Pieces of the Puzzle II
by violette7
Summary: Justin and Brian delve deeper into their D/s relationship and deal with their family's reaction to it.
1. Spiraling Downward

So here I am. Sitting in a chair, my hands tied behind my back, my feet securely fastened to the chair legs. But Brian isn't here with me. He didn't tie me up. In fact, if my kidnappers have their way, I'll never see him again. I suppose this is a bad place to start. So I'll back up. As the day of our collaring ceremony drew near, the shitstorm I call my life just got worse and worse.

It all started with Lindsay and Mel deciding that Gus should not be a part of our ceremony.

"You know I love you both, and I'm happy for you, I really am, I mean, the fact that you're choosing monogamy and a lifelong commitment is truly wonderful, but Mel and I agree that a collaring ceremony is not something Gus should even witness, let alone something in which he should participate. He's an impressionable child, and we feel that dominance/submission relationships just reproduce (and therefore reinforce) the unequal power relationships currently found in our patriarchal society and in others around the world. We want to instill in him the idea that that's wrong. For him to see such a relationship in action, being chosen, well, we feel that that would blur the issue. He can't learn that this is sometimes okay."

Brian tried to interrupt, but Lindsay cut him off. "I know…you two are engaging in this relationship willingly, but these kinds of power dynamics are thrust upon women and people of color all over the world, and we don't believe that they should ever be celebrated. It's like role playing rape scenes. It should never, ever be done. It's not okay to take pleasure in such things, Brian. It's just not. Not under any circumstances."

Brian sighed, and I turned red, partly, mostly, in anger, but partly in shame. The fact that Lindsay was causing me to feel ashamed of what I had with Brian and of myself just made me angrier. Who was she to say what kinds of relationships were and were not 'appropriate?'

Then came the cherry on the shit sundae. Lindsay paused, cleared her throat, and added, a blush creeping up her cheek, "Moreover…we think that Gus should never be exposed to this, this lifestyle. You're welcome to visit with him separately, or together if Mel and I are present, but we don't want Gus to ever see you acting as master and slave. That would be…confusing, running counter to what we're trying to teach him, the man we want him to become."

I gaped. I couldn't believe how far she was taking this. Brian didn't argue. But his eyes grew cold. He stared at her for a moment, so darkly that she shivered, and then took me by the hand and led me outside.

I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. Neither did he. Not right away. But once we were in the jeep driving, he stated softly, "We're going to fight this. She doesn't get to make all the rules."

I couldn't help but smile a little at his natural use of "we." But my chest was tight, and I felt a little faint, almost as though something cold were gripping my heart. This fight was going to get ugly. I just knew it.

Then there was my mother. I explained as best that I could, but she just stared at me in horror. Then I showed her the ring Brian had given me, informed her that we were monogamous, and asserted that a collaring ceremony was like a wedding, but none of that seemed to have any effect. She just continued to stare and gape. Then she slapped Brian and declared hotly, "I will not take part in your filthy lifestyle." Before she stormed out, she added, in a hiss, "You're both sick!"

Debbie's reaction was no better. She assumed that Brian had forced me into this relationship. She snapped at Brian, "Is this what poor Sunshine has to do to hold your interest? You should be ashamed of yourself! Using the (in a hushed tone, like saying the word would cause the bogeyman to appear) rape and the bashing to manipulate him!"

Then to me, she said, in a softer voice, "You know you're worth more than this, don't you? You deserve to be treated nice, to be cherished and loved. He's not worth letting yourself be caught up in these twisted games. Just because horrible things have happened to you doesn't mean that you can't have a normal relationship with someone else…"

Brian cut her off with a bark, "Enough! Enough."

He took me by the hand, turned abruptly, and walked out, with me in tow.

That would have been bad enough…Lindsay, Mel, my mom, and Debbie thinking that we were sick and refusing to attend the ceremony; Lindsay and Mel refusing to let Gus attend; and a custody battle looming on the horizon. But that wasn't the worst. Two nights before the ceremony was to be held, as I was walking back to the loft from the library, a black van sped in front of me and stopped. Then three burly men grabbed me. Before I could scream, one of them covered my mouth with a cloth. It smelled acrid. Then, the world started to fade. The last thing I remember is their tossing my cell phone onto the road and shoving me into the back of the van.


	2. Down, Down, Down

As soon as I entered the loft, I was overwhelmed by a feeling of dread. It was too quiet and dark. Justin should have been home. And with Justin came light and laughter. Not shadows and silence. We had talked just an hour ago. Well, fifty-eight minutes ago. We had been doing that for months, talking every hour we were awake. No matter what. If I did nothing and Justin was safe, he would be calling me in just a couple of minutes. But somehow, I knew he wouldn't. I tried to rein in my panic, but my hand trembled as I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Justin's number.

One ring.

I stopped breathing.

Two rings.

I wobbled a bit.

Three rings.

My heart stopped beating.

Four rings.

I felt nauseous.

On the fifth ring, someone answered. My heart leapt, but only for a flicker of a second. Then it plummeted into my stomach, and my blood ran cold. A soft female voice came on the line. "Hello."

I swallowed hard. "Uh, is Justin there?"

"I'm sorry, no. I just found this phone laying in the middle of the road. I was walking by, and it started ringing."

I clenched my jaw. "Where?"

Twenty minutes later, Carl and I were standing in the middle of the road near where the female passerby had found Justin's phone. There wasn't much to see, just skid marks and Justin's phone. The woman hadn't witnessed anything, so after Carl took her name, he let her go.

I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair, spinning around slowly as I did so, scanning the road and the surrounding bushes, desperate to find any clue as to what had happened.

"Maybe he just dropped his phone. Have you called all of his friends?"

"No. No. He wouldn't have…ever since shortly after the…the rape, we've had an agreement. He calls me every hour. _Every hour_. He wouldn't have been careless with his phone. No way."

Carl sighed. "Okay. I'll get a forensics team out here."

**********

I sat there in some basement (one I didn't recognize), alone. It was chilly and dark. There was only one source of light, a single light bulb hanging above me. It swung back and forth slowly.

I railed against my bindings until my wrists and ankles ached and burned. I screamed until I was hoarse. But no one came. Not for a long time.

**********

Every minute that passed drove me closer to the edge. I couldn't stop the endless stream of horrifying possibilities from appearing in my mind. Justin bruised and bleeding…Justin dying.

I was trying so hard to focus on something constructive. Looking for clues. That's what I was doing when the forensics guys arrived, trying desperately to ignore most of what was going on in my head and find something that could tell me who had taken Justin and where. The forensics guys measured and photographed the skid marks and took Justin's phone to check it for prints and to look at his call history.

When they were about ready to close up shop, I got lucky. I actually found something. A cloth, like a handkerchief. I was reaching down to pick it up when a stocky man with dirty blond hair pushed me out of the way and grabbed it (with his gloved hand). He snapped, "Don't contaminate the crime scene! We might be able to get prints off of that."

Then he sniffed the cloth and concluded woodenly, "Desflurane. It's the only inhalational anesthetic with an acrid smell. The rest are sweet smelling, sometimes sickly so."

Carl sighed and patted my shoulder nervously. "Looks like you were right, Brian. This is a kidnapping."

At the "crime scene" and then at the precinct, the minutes separating Justin and I, our last call, became hours. I was losing all semblance of control. Justin was slipping away, and nothing I could do would stop it. I had no idea who had Justin, why they had taken him, what they were doing to him, or if I'd ever see him again. I was slowly going mad.

**********

I had to piss so bad that cold shivers were running not just up and down my spine but also throughout my body, and my abdomen had started to ache. But no matter what, I refused to piss my pants. I refused to let my kidnappers think I was afraid, though, of course, I was. I was terrified. And in so much pain. My wrists and ankles still burned and ached. Finally, after what had felt like hours, a door at the top of the stairs, one that I hadn't even seen because it was cloaked in shadows, swung open. The doorway was so bright that I couldn't see who was entering the basement. All I could see was a tall slim figure, just his shape, no features. Then when he closed the door and started coming down the stairs, I couldn't even see that. Once he reached the bottom of the stairs, he moved closer, but he stayed in the shadows.

Then he asked calmly, in a lilting voice, "Do you know why you're here Justin?"

I felt a cold lump at the pit of my stomach. How did he know my name?

I stammered, "N-no."

"Sure you do. You've fallen in with a bad man, one who makes you do sick things."

I closed my eyes, trying desperately to push back the waves of panic threatening to take my consciousness. This man sounded exactly like Ethan. Not his voice, but his words. Was it possible that Ethan had engineered this from his jail cell? The thought had me trembling. I squeezed my eyes tighter to prevent tears from falling. Not again. Please God not again. Suddenly, I felt an overpowering nausea. Then the world started spinning.

**********

Carl was on the phone with someone. I have no idea who. He grunted a few times. Then he actually smiled a little. When he hung up, he stated brightly, well, as brightly as Carl gets, "The forensics team got a print off the cloth and there's a match in the system."

I asked quickly, in a near growl, "Who is it?"

"Jared Tombs. He's been brought in for questioning more than a dozen times on kidnapping cases, and he was arrested a few times, but nothing ever stuck."

I swallowed hard. "Were those cases…did the cops find the…the victims?"

"Yeah. In each case, after a few weeks, they were released."

I just stared at Carl. That made no sense. "Was there ransom involved?"

"Nope. The victims were set free, and none of them ever identified their kidnappers."

"I don't get it."

"He's a deprogrammer."

Every muscle in my body tensed. "A deprogrammer?"

Carl nodded. "Near as we can figure, parents hire him to get their kids out of cults and the like. So now we have some suspects."

"Justin's parents."

Carl nodded. "We need to bring them in for questioning right away. Maybe we can scare them into telling us where they've got him stashed."

This was unfuckingbelievable. I knew Justin's parents hated me and that Justin's mom wasn't too thrilled about the turn our relationship had taken, but I had trouble believing that she would have agreed to have Justin kidnapped. Especially after…

I shook my head and sighed. I just didn't know. Once upon a time, there was little she wouldn't do to "save" her son from me. She'd lied to Justin, asked Justin to live like a prisoner (under Craig's thumb), tried to justify her husband's violence (hitting Justin, punching me, and running me down with his car), and attempted to cut Justin off from everyone. A year or two ago, she might have agreed to hire someone to kidnap and deprogram him, but now? After the bashing…the rape…I just didn't know.


	3. Working My Way Back to You

A/N: I couldn't remember if they'd ever given Jennifer's maiden name on the show, so I made one up.

When I awoke, I was still sitting in the chair, still tied up, but now, the lower half of my body was soaking wet. I sighed. I'd pissed myself after all. I looked around the room, frantically searching for the man who'd been here before. My breathing was shallow, and my heart was beating so hard in my chest that it was almost painful. Suddenly, I saw movement near the stairs. I started to feel dizzy, and my vision started to swim. I shook my head hard and blinked. I had to stay conscious. I made a concerted effort to regulate my breathing. I closed my eyes and thought about Brian. I thought about the first night he'd called me Angel. Right when I was falling asleep, he'd murmured, "You're everything to me, Angel." I swallowed hard. Master must be worried sick. Losing sleep searching for me. I had to be strong. At the very least, I had to be strong. I laughed until I cried when I realized that what was moving by the stairs was not the man at all, but a mouse.

I wasn't too thrilled to be keeping company with rodentia, but at least that creepy man was gone, and my abdomen no longer ached. Unfortunately, I had just traded one pain for another. I was hungry and thirsty. My stomach was growling, and the inside of my mouth felt like sandpaper.

I'd expected the man to beat me, possibly rape me, as Ethan and Chris had done. At the very least, I'd expected him to present me with a laundry list of Brian's faults, to show me hundreds or thousands of pictures of men Brian had been with, to remind me of all the terrible things that had happened to me since we'd met, and/or to describe the 'danger' and 'perversion' inherent in D/s relationships. But he hadn't done any of that, not yet anyway. He hadn't done anything. He'd just left me to rot.

**********

Carl had brought Justin's parents in for questioning. He had them brought in at different times (so they wouldn't know the other was there) and placed them in different interrogation rooms. He left Jennifer to wait while questioning Craig. I stayed in a different room, a large one spanning the length of both interrogation rooms. I was able to watch Jennifer sitting by herself and Carl interrogating Craig through a two-way mirror.

"So Mr. Taylor, where were you yesterday at 8pm?"

"At a bar, with a friend."

"What bar? What friend?"

"The Ridge House. Alan Smith."

"If you were at a bar, you must have been drinking. How can you be sure you were together at the bar at 8pm?"

"We arrived a half an hour before the Orioles game started and stayed until it ended. So we must have been there from 7:30 until 11pm.

"We're going to need Mr. Smith's contact information."

Craig shrugged.

"When's the last time you saw your son, Justin?"

Craig's eyes grew cold. "I have no son."

Carl sighed heavily. "When did you last see Justin Taylor?"

Craig shrugged. "Six months ago, I think. I'm not sure."

Carl tossed a picture of Tombs on the table and asked, "Do you know this man?"

I saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes, but only for a second. Then his eyes were blank once more. "No."

Craig was way too composed. He didn't ask why he'd been brought in or what he was suspected of doing. He didn't ask about Justin, pretending that he had no idea that he had been kidnapped. And no wonder. He had an alibi. All he had to do was confess nothing. He didn't even feel the need for a lawyer. Jennifer, on the other hand, was a nervous wreck. She kept fidgeting and looking around with a petrified expression on her face. She was the key. Craig wouldn't crack, but she might. Carl must have come to the same conclusion because he excused himself.

**********

I'd spent some time, I had no clue how long, trying to crane my neck back and down while turning my wrist, so I could look at my watch. Unfortunately, my wrists were tied too tight. I ended up with a sore neck and nothing to show for it. Except…all the movement had caused the chair to sway and creak. The floor was cement, but the chair was made out of wood and, as suggested by the creaking, old. Maybe if I moved side to side, long enough, fast enough, I could build up sufficient momentum to send the chair crashing to the floor and break it. If I managed it, I might be able to get my hands free and escape. I started rocking and prayed that it would work.

**********

"Mrs. Taylor."

"I go by Evans now; that's my maiden name."

"Alright. Ms. Evans, where were you yesterday at 8pm?"

"Umm…with my daughter, Molly, at our apartment."

"When's the last time you saw your son, Justin?"

"Uh, a few weeks ago."

"We have reason to believe that Justin was kidnapped."

Jennifer looked down and started playing with the fabric of her pants. She didn't seem surprised, but she might have been worried.

"So you last saw Justin three weeks ago. What happened?"

Jennifer glanced up, stunned. "Wh-what?"

"It was my understanding that you saw Justin every week. Something must have happened for you to avoid him for three weeks in a row."

"Oh." Jennifer swallowed hard. "Justin, he, he told me something disturbing." I sighed. I knew that this was what I needed the kidnapping to be…a woefully misguided attempt to save Justin from me; otherwise, we'd have no way of finding Justin, none that I could see anyway. But still, knowing that I was to blame…knowing that whatever they did to him, however they traumatized him further, would be my fault was killing me.

Carl prodded, "What did he tell you?"

"That…that he and Brian…that they had established some kind of sadomasochistic relationship…" Jennifer's eyes widened as she spoke, and she paled. She shook her head. "I…I did what any mother would do. I told him I couldn't condone that behavior."

"Did you strike Brian?"

Jennifer didn't answer. She just blinked. Then she shook her head again. In a near moan, she asked, "What was I supposed to do? Brian has caused my son and my family so much trouble, so much pain. If not for him…"

"What? If not for him, what?"

"My son would be…would be…"

"Straight?"

Jennifer let her head fall and drew her arms up. She clutched a sweater that had been resting on her lap to her chest and sighed. "No. I wish…but no. Still being gay doesn't have to mean everything it's meant for Justin. Does it? The fighting with his father, the bashing, the rape, Hobbs's nearly killing him…this sick relationship…all that is Brian's fault."

In a soft voice, Carl inquired, "Mrs. Taylor, I mean, Ms. Evans. Surely you don't believe that."

Jennifer was screeching now. "What am I supposed to think? Everything was okay before Brian entered the mix. Craig might have taken the gay thing better if Justin hadn't been having sex with a grown man. And if Brian hadn't gone to the prom, that Hobbs boy probably wouldn't have snapped. And if Brian had just told my son how he felt, Justin would never taken up with that Gold boy, and he might never have been raped."

I crossed my arms and tried to grow cold, numb. Like my chest was stone.

Carl retorted, in an exasperated voice, "Ms. Evans, as I've come to learn, homophobes are homophobes. There's no reasoning with them. If Justin had never met Brian, Justin would have been with someone else, and I highly doubt that your husband, your ex-husband, would have been any more accepting. And as for the bashing and the rape, they are Hobbs and Gold's fault, not Brian's, not Justin's. Being angry or hurt doesn't give anyone license to commit a violent crime!"

Jennifer stammered, "Of course not…I just…"

Carl shook his head. His voice rose in tandem with his growing anger. "If you had seen how insane with fear and grief Brian was, how hard he worked to find Justin after the rape…if you'd seen how what Gold and Hobbs had done tore him up, the effort he put into helping Justin get through it, you could never blame him or wish him away. Bad things happen every day. Very often to good people. And it doesn't make sense. It isn't understandable. No one brings it on themselves. The true measure of a person is what they do after. And Brian has proven over and over just how deeply he loves your son, to what lengths he will go to protect him. Hobbs didn't kill Justin. Why? Because Brian tackled the fucker and beat him to a bloody pulp. You owe him your thanks, not your condemnation."

Jennifer pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. "If not for him, Justin wouldn't have been in that situation!"

Then Carl moved in for the kill (she'd just displayed a powerful motive for having Justin kidnapped). "So you would do anything to get Justin away from Brian?"

She shouted, "Yes! Yes! Yes!" Suddenly, realizing what she'd just admitted, she froze. "Wait, wh-what? I…"

Now Carl was yelling. "Would you have a deprogrammer kidnap your son right before his commitment ceremony? Would you let that deprogrammer lock him up and do God knows what to him in an effort to get Justin to swear he'd never see Brian again?"

Jennifer just stared at Carl.

"You know that some deprogrammers use brainwashing techniques, don't you? They starve their charges…beat them…force them to sit or lie in their own filth…play on their fears. And Justin has a great many fears nowadays, doesn't he? A stranger tying him up, keeping him locked away, beating him…what do you think Justin would fear in a situation like that? What horrible memories would come to the surface? But I guess that's why it's effective. Why militaries use such tactics. The starvation, the intolerable living conditions, and the instilled or exploited fears break people down. If the deprogrammer you hired makes Justin think he might rape him, like Gold and Hobbs did, he might promise anything, believe anything. What kind of mother would do that to her child, for any reason?"

In a softer voice, he continued, "You say that Brian and Justin's relationship is sadomasochistic…I don't claim to understand it, but I don't see cruelty or pain there. All I see is deep love. But this, what you've done…it _is_ cruel. Given Justin's history, it's a whole new level of cruelty."

Carl took out the picture of Tombs and pushed it toward her. Jennifer's eyes widened. She obviously recognized the man. Carl hissed, "You go talk to Tombs. Get your son away from him. If you don't, if I find Justin first, you will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Judges aren't generally lenient with mothers who allow their children to be tortured."

Jennifer stammered, "You're letting me go?"

"For the moment. If you are any kind of mother, if you truly love your son, you'll call the dogs off." Then he stood and left, slamming the door as he exited.


	4. On Our Own

I had managed to send the chair to the floor, and, as I hoped, it had broken into a dozen pieces. The rope on my right wrist, which had been tied around one of the rungs at the back of the chair, slipped free of the wood. I was able to bring my hand to my front. With it, I untied my other hand, which was still fastened to a rung that hadn't broken free of the seat. Then with both hands free, I began untying my feet.

*********

Twenty hours had passed since I'd last spoken to Justin. Carl'd had both Jennifer and Craig tailed after their interrogations, but, so far, nothing had come of it. Jennifer had gone to the grocery store and then back home. She'd been there since. Craig went to the electronics store and then to his girlfriend's house. I was currently in the hall outside Carl's office. When I saw him hang up the phone, I strode in. I snapped, "Well?" I was at the end of my patience. Carl had spent the last six hours trying to get a warrant for Tombs's house and Jennifer and Craig's bank records

Carl sighed. "No dice."

"What the fuck is the hold up?"

Carl sighed. "None of the judges that we've tried so far want to touch this with a ten-foot pole. I'm guessing that they'd consider doing what the Taylors did, if they were in their shoes. I've explained about the bashing and the rape…how being confined and possibly abused would further traumatize someone who's had more than his share of trauma; that had little effect. But Judge Morris is due to return from vacation today or tomorrow. He's a good man. I'm sure he'll sign it."

I hissed, "Today or tomorrow. Maybe. A lot can happen in twenty-four hours. This is fucking bullshit! Justin was kidnapped and that fucker Tombs's fingerprint was found on the cloth with the anesthetic. What else does any judge need to know? Kidnapping is a fucking crime."

"I know, Brian. I know."

"Well, I'm not waiting."

Carl just stared at me.

"I saw his address in the file you have on him. I know you can't go, not without a warrant, but I have no such constraints on me."

"Don't be stupid, Brian."

I glared at Carl, my jaw tight. "Are you going to arrest me? Tail me? Do what you have to do. I'll do the same."

I started walking away, but I stopped when Carl called out softly, "Brian…"

I turned to look at him. "Wear gloves, huh?"

I grinned. "Don't I always?"

*********

I was terrified; my heart was beating so hard in my chest that I thought it might explode, and my breathing was fast and shallow. I was halfway to hyperventilating (I felt a little dizzy, though the terrible hunger I was experiencing might have contributed to that), but I needed to get out of there, and this might be my only chance. I took a deep breath, trying to slow my heart beat and regulate my breathing. Then I pushed a box up to the window, uncovered it (the window), and pulled it open. I jumped down and looked around frantically for more boxes that would support my weight. I'd need at least two more to get through the window. Suddenly, the door at the top of the stairs swung open. Fuck. I grabbed the nearest box, hoped it wouldn't burst, and placed it on top of the other. Then I climbed up. I thrust my hands through the open window, searching for anything I could grab onto. I thought I was utterly fucked, but then my left hand brushed against something coarse. Bark. There was a short, thin tree a foot or two outside the window. A sapling. I grabbed it with my left hand and dug my right into the grass until my fingers were buried in soil. Then I tried to pull myself through the window. I'd managed to pull myself far enough to get my feet off the ground, well, off of the top box, but then it was all over. The man from before (I had looked back) was pulling me by the legs. My right hand slipped, but I managed to grab the window jamb. I kicked back at the man and held onto the tree and the window frame for dear life. I also started screaming. "Help! Someone help me! I've been kidnapped!"

Then I was hurtling to the floor.

**********

It was bad enough that the tails on Craig and Jennifer had gotten us nothing and that no judge would sign the warrant, but Carl had let the news of Justin's kidnapping slip to Deb, so now, everyone and their brother was at the precinct. I sighed. Mikey and Deb were both rushing toward me, followed closely by Ted, Emmett, and Ben. Jesus fucking Christ. I'd never get out of there. Deb actually looked worried. About me. It was the first time in weeks that she'd looked at me with anything other than contempt. She handed me a Styrofoam container with, I imagined, a turkey sandwich, no mayo, and lemon bars. Mikey jumped into my arms as soon as he reached me, nearly sending the container to the floor. After hugging me for a couple solid minutes, he pulled back. "You look like shit, Brian. Have you slept since he was taken?"

I shook my head.

"You should sleep! How can you be any help to Justin if you're a zombie?"

That was my out. "You know, Mikey, you're right. Why don't you all check on Carl? I'm going to go back to the loft."

"Wait, Brian. I'll come with you."

"Mikey, I'm just going to be sleeping. I'd really appreciate it if you hung around and then came and got me if there's any news."

Mikey looked disappointed, but he nodded. "Oh. Yeah, okay."

I stepped around Deb and Mikey and walked as quickly as I could out of the precinct. I tossed the Styrofoam container into a trash bin outside the door and kept walking. But I hadn't gone two feet when I heard Ben's voice. "You aren't going home, are you?"

I sighed and wheeled around. After regarding him coolly for a minute, I replied, "Nope."

"Where are you going?"

"The kidnapper's house."

Ben's eyes widened. "Brian, you can't. That sounds dangerous!"

"Carl can't get a warrant even though we have evidence placing him at the scene of the crime, and the interrogations with Jennifer and Craig gave us nothing. It's been twenty hours. I can't sit here doing nothing, and I sure as fuck can't sleep."

"At least let me go with you."

I shrugged. "Whatever." Then I headed for the Jeep.

**********

When I hit the floor, I nearly had a panic attack. The man was looming above me, leering at me. I remembered what he'd said to me, the only thing he'd said to me (You've fallen in with a bad man, one who makes you do sick things) and the creepy voice with which he'd said it. Somehow I pushed the fear threatening to overwhelm me back and scrambled to my feet. Now was the test. I had been taking self-defense classes for the last couple of months, and I'd gotten pretty good at some of the moves, but, of course, doing them in class, where I knew I was safe, was a far cry from doing them here, where I was in terrible danger. I squared my feet and waited, daring the man with my eyes to try to grab me. It didn't take him long. I focused only on his arm. It was just an arm, perhaps of my teacher or my sparring partner. And I was good at this. When his hand was an inch from my face, I grabbed his wrist with one hand and his shoulder with the other. In the span of about five seconds, I swiveled around so that he was facing my back and flipped him onto his. Then I stomped on his abdomen. I left him gasping for air and ran up the stairs.

**********

It was starting to get dark when Ben and I arrived at Tombs's house. I threw Ben an extra set of leather gloves I had grabbed from the Jeep. Then we started checking all the doors and all the windows on the ground floor, but the house was locked up tight. I was getting impatient. I took my jacket off and wrapped it around my right hand and arm. Then I broke one of the windows and used my jacket to clear away the shards of glass. A few moments later, I climbed through the window. Ben followed. We checked every room. The house was empty. I sighed. I'd really hoped that Tombs would be keeping Justin here, though I knew that would be a stupid move on his part. However, in the basement, we found an office of sorts. There was a desk and three filing cabinets. We didn't turn on any lights. Instead, I tossed Ben the extra flashlight (I'd grabbed two from the loft before we headed over here).

Ben asked, "So what are we looking for?"

"Addresses of places where he might be keeping Justin…names of possible associates who might be helping him…anything with Jennifer or Craig's name on it…maybe a check."

Ben nodded and started sifting through the papers on the desk. I turned my attention to the filing cabinets.

**********

Fuck. There were people everywhere. Thankfully, I'd managed to slip into the pantry before anyone had seen me. I might be able to disable one or two guys, but no way I could handle fifteen. And somehow I doubted very much that I could sneak past all of them. In a few minutes, the man I'd thrown would come running up here, alerting his friends to my escape. Should I try to hide? Or try to reach a phone and dial 911? Even if I didn't have a chance to give them my name, the cops would come here. They had to. I wasn't sure what to do, and I didn't have much time. I had to pick a strategy and go with it, for better or worse.


	5. Hope

A/N: I'll post the next part later this evening or tomorrow.

I'd waited too long. I heard pounding and knew the man was running up the basement steps. I was trapped. In desperation, I climbed up on the counter. I don't even know what I thought that would achieve. Pantries don't generally have windows, and this one was no exception. I guess I just wanted distance, little though it was. However, that stupid move was serendipitous. From my vantage point, I could see that the shelving was not built into the wall, as I had originally thought after entering the pantry, during my cursory inspection. The shelves were lined with jars and canned goods. So when two guys ran in, I pushed the shelving with all my strength, sending it and the jars and cans crashing down onto the two men. One man took the brunt. The shelving (and its contents) knocked him out. The other managed to remain standing, though he wobbled a bit at first, but some of the jars had crashed into the wall (as opposed to the floor), shattering and sending shards of glass into his left arm. He was cursing. I used his shock and pain to my advantage, kicking him in the face. He fell backward onto the floor. Then I jumped down from the counter, right on his chest (as hard as I could), and ran out the door. A few other guys had heard the man shouting and were headed my way. I kicked one in the balls and punched another in the neck, leaving one huddled over clutching his groin and the other on the floor coughing, and tried to make it to the door. I could see it from two rooms away (the kitchen and the living room). Two guys were standing in front of it and a bunch more were coming down the stairs from the second floor, where, I imagined, they had started looking for me when the man from the basement had raised the alarm. I ran as fast as I could, even managing to dodge the guy who'd made it down the stairs first and was trying to grab me. Then I saw the bay window. The two guys who'd been guarding the door and the men who'd finally reached the bottom of the stairs were converging on me. I was surrounded. There was no way I'd make it to the door and nowhere to retreat. So I veered toward the bay window, ran faster, and then jumped (while covering my face), crashing through the window and landing in a heap on the lawn. My skin stung all over, and I felt dizzy. I didn't have much time. I slipped my ring off (the band of frosted platinum, dusted with gold, with the inscription: "Angel, my heart beats only for you") and tossed it onto the sidewalk. I prayed that no one had seen me toss it. Then rough hands were grabbing me, wittingly or unwittingly pushing some of the shards of glass deeper into my skin. I heard someone cry out. It sounded like my voice. Was I screaming? Then there was only blackness.

*******

Ben and I were back in the Jeep. We'd found dozens of names and addresses, but nothing connecting Jennifer or Craig to Tombs. I suppose it wouldn't have mattered if we had. Nothing we'd acquired illegally would have been admissible in court anyway. Still I needed to know for sure that we were, that I was, on the right track. That Jennifer and/or Craig had hired Tombs. If Justin was at none of the addresses, Jennifer and/or Craig would be the only lead left, the only chance we'd have of getting Justin back anytime soon, and I hoped, before Tombs had inflicted too much damage. I looked at the first address. 12 King Street. Then I sped off. I didn't even stop for red lights. Checking thirty houses would probably take all night as it was.

*******

When I awoke, I was laying face down on a bed, back in the basement if the musty smell were any indication. My hands and feet were tied. I was naked. My arms, legs, and chest hurt. They ached and stung. I realized why as soon as I moved. I cried out (the stabbing pain took me by surprise). The men hadn't removed the shards embedded in my skin, and I was laying on some of them. Every time I moved, they dug deeper into my flesh.

*******

After we'd scoped out three houses, my phone rang. The caller ID indicated that it was Daphne. I sighed and pressed the send button. She didn't even say hello. She was screeching, "Why the hell didn't you tell me Justin was missing? I had to hear it from Emmett when I called him to go over some last minute wedding details."

She didn't wait for a reply. She just barreled on. "Emmett said that Justin's parents probably hired someone to kidnap him. Is that true?"

I answered, "Yes."

She yelled so loud that I had to pull the phone away from my ear. "Oh my fucking God! What the heck are they thinking?"

I sighed. "That kidnapping and torturing their son is a small price to pay to get him away from a pervert like me."

Daphne, her voice soft now, said, "Brian…I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

My voice actually cracked. "N-no." No one had asked me that. People had told me how I must be feeling, what I should do. But no one had asked the simplest of questions. Are you okay? I was so not okay. And some crazy part of me wanted to stand up on a rooftop and shout, "I'm not okay. I may never be okay again." I had no idea why. What good that would do. Course I'd been up the twenty-three hours Justin had been missing and the twelve before. I hadn't eaten in about thirty, though the hunger pains had diminished to a dull ache in my abdomen. Must have been the hunger, the lack of sleep, the terror and the guilt making me have crazy impulses.

Daphne's voice brought me out of my head. "What are you doing?"

"Looking for Justin."

"You have some idea where he is?"

"I got a list of possible places the deprogrammer might have stashed him."

"Okay." Uh oh. Daphne's determined voice. "I have an idea how I might be able to help."

I started to caution her, "Daphne, don't…" but she cut me off with a bright "I'll call you later. Let you know how it goes." Then she hung up. I called her back, but she sent the call straight to voicemail.

Fuck. Course, as stupid as it was for her to try to help Justin, I understood the need. All too well. And I respected her determination. Her unwillingness to simply wait by the phone. She loved Justin as much as I did, well almost.


	6. The Quiet

I could hear men talking. They seemed to be here with me. Right next to the bed. But couldn't be sure. I was weaving in and out of consciousness. I fought to stay awake, but it was so hard. I was dizzy and nauseous, and every time I breathed, pain shot through me from several places at once. I couldn't even open my eyes.

"What the fuck are we going to do?"

"We didn't push him through that window." That was the man from the basement (as I had come to call the only man who'd spoken to me).

Darkness.

"We should get that doctor friend of yours over here."

"No. This is going to work in our favor. The cuts aren't that deep, but they're painful. Pretty soon, he'll be primed for stage two and in less time than it usually takes."

"Are you fucking crazy? The mother won't pay us the second half if the kid's harmed. She said that."

Did he say mother?

"_We_ didn't harm him. He harmed himself. And honestly, when we give her the result she wants, and ahead of schedule, she'll be happy enough."

Darkness.

"There's just so much blood. Yeah…sure…sometimes we get a little rough, but there's never this much blood! It's soaked through half the mattress. If he dies, we're fucked."

"He's not going to die. Relax."

I wasn't so sure about that.

"Besides, we didn't tell to squirm so much that he dislodged some of the pieces of glass."

"You're a heartless bastard."

"He's a fag. And even sicker than most. Into serious bondage and other S/M shit, from what his mother said. He deserves what he gets. Fuck, for all we know, his dick's getting hard over this."

Darkness.

*******

"Brian. Brian!"

"What? Oh. Fuck." I turned the wheel hard, guiding us back onto the highway.

"That's it. Pull over."

"What? Why?"

"You almost ran us into a tree."

"I'm fine. Who asked this last guy to live in the fucking boonies?"

Ben laughed. "It's a suburb, Brian. That's hardly the boonies."

"Look at all those trees and fields. It's the fucking boonies. And those white lines. They're fucking hypnotic or some shit."

"Let me drive. I had a full 8 hours of sleep last night."

"Fuck it. Fine." I hated not being in control, especially now, but I was "fresh out" of adrenaline, as Emmy Lou would have termed it. We'd visited 29 houses all over the Pitts, but had not located Justin, so I wasn't hopeful about house number 30. To be honest, I hadn't been since house number 15. With every bust, my energy level dropped. But I couldn't stop trying, following every lead, no matter how futile it seemed, no matter how exhausted I was. What else was I going to do? Confront Craig? Grab the homophobic asshole by the neck and squeeze until he told me where the deprogrammer was holding Justin? Don't think for a second that I hadn't considered doing just that. And if Justin wasn't at the next house, I might still. What had prevented me thus far was…Hobbs. Well kind of. Mostly it was my Angel. No…that's not something I would ever say aloud…calling Justin not just Angel, but my Angel. Not even if only Justin were present. But fuck it. Sometimes that's how I thought of him, and if you don't like it, get the fuck out of my head. So…yeah. I couldn't risk putting myself in a position where I might kill someone who'd hurt Justin…who was hurting Justin. Justin had made me promise after I put Hobbs in the coma. He'd made me promise that I'd never again risk a permanent separation. And I intended to keep that promise. Especially since there were still leads to follow. When that was no longer true…I might…well…fuck. I didn't know what I'd do. I couldn't break my promise, but if Ben were there with me…he'd stop me from killing Craig. That's half the reason I'd let him come. To stop me from killing people. Little did I know that, at the moment, Daphne was doing what I was avoiding. Well, sort of.

*******

"Hey, Molly. Is your mom here?"

"Yeah. She's getting ready for bed though."

"I won't keep her long."

Molly shrugged. "It'd do her good to stay up past 11 once in a while."

"Speaking of…why are you still up? Isn't it a school night?"

"Nah. Teacher's conference tomorrow."

"Cool."

"Yeah." Molly smiled and then walked closer to the hallway. She poked her head around the corner. "Mom! Someone's here to see you."

"Good Lord, Molly. No need to shout…" Mrs. Taylor stopped speaking the moment she laid eyes on me. She paled. "Daphne." She pulled her robe closed and crossed her arms. "Molly, go to your room."

"Why?"

In a frightening whisper, she said, "Just go. Now!"

But before Molly made a move to leave, I asked Mrs. Taylor bluntly, "So did you hire the person who kidnapped Justin?"

She didn't respond. She just stared at me, her mouth forming a perfect o. She was probably shitting her pants shocked. I couldn't even believe I'd said it out like that. But this was no time to mince words. I should probably have waited until Molly left, but she deserved to know that her brother was in danger. And I was kind of hoping that talking about this in front of Molly would shame Mrs. Taylor into telling me where Justin was. Or at least into calling the kidnapper and asking him to release Justin.

"Jus's missing?"

Still looking at Mrs. Taylor, I answered Molly: "Yes. He has been for over 24 hours. Your mom didn't tell you? She's known about it for at least 18 hours, maybe much longer. In fact, she probably orchestrated it."

Molly looked at her mom in shock. "Did you?"

Mrs. Taylor stepped back and shook her head, but Molly must have recognized the look on her face. She wasn't buying that no. Not for one second. In fact, her shock quickly turned into horror. "Oh my God! You did! Why?"

Mrs. Taylor stepped closer and said, "Molly…" but Molly took a few steps back.

Mrs. Taylor swallowed hard and blinked back tears. Then she forged ahead. "Brian…"

"Oh my fucking God, Mom!"

"Don't use that kind of language with me, young lady!"

Molly laughed. But it was a bitter laugh. "You hired someone to kidnap Justin, and you're yelling at me about my 'language.' Puleeze! When will you get a clue? Huh? Brian loves Justin. Why else would they be getting married?"

"How did you…"

"How did I know? Justin emails me all the time. Just because you're mad at him doesn't mean he's not my brother."

"Honey, try to understand. What Brian and Justin have…their relationship…it's sick. It's not right. I've accepted that he's gay. You know that! But…well, Brian's just not right for Justin."

I piped up, "If you thought that, why did you help me get them back together?"

"That was before…"

Molly interjected coldly, "Before what? The rape?"

"Don't…"

"Don't what, Mom? Say the word rape? Not saying the word doesn't change anything. Justin was raped. R-A-P-E-D. But he was dealing with it. He was taking self-defense classes, and he said that that made him feel more in control…that it helped him turn his anger outward. That it made him feel like less of a victim. He also said that Brian was hovering over him like a mother hen…that their relationship had never been better. That he was happier than he ever thought possible. That he could face anything as long as Brian was in his life. Why would you want to wreck that?"

"Honey…you don't know everything…you don't know what they do together…it's sick!"

"I don't care what they do. Anyone who can make Jus as happy as he's been, especially after everything he's gone through, deserves to be his husband…or partner or whatever." Molly set her jaw, her eyes burning with a determination that I'd seen so many times in Justin's own. It made me want to laugh and cry at the same time. "If you've hurt Justin, I will _never_ forgive you. And I don't care what you say! I'm going to his wedding!" Then Molly ran past her mom and down the hall. Mrs. Taylor flinched when Molly slammed the door.

She glared at me then. "You!! Get out!" I'd never seen her so angry. For a second I thought she might slap me.

"I'm going. I'm going."

*******

After passing a fuck load of fields and wending our way through a maze of countless identical houses, we'd finally reached house number 30. 95 Bilberry Lane. I nearly fell out of the Jeep, but I caught myself. I shut the door and held onto the handle for an extra second, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. Then I turned and stepped over the curb and onto the grass. When I reached the sidewalk, my foot hit something hard. At first I thought it was a rock. But when I lifted my foot and looked down, it glinted in the moonlight. In a daze, I reached down and picked it up. "Ben."

"Yeah, Brian."

"This is it. This is where they're holding him."

TBC...this afternoon (I'm coming down with something, so I'm writing super slow...after that, I'm gonna write a more cheerful update...FoF, QAF Babies, My Beloved, or B&E...haven't decided yet)


	7. The Storm, Part 1

A/N: Sorry this is later than I expected. My cold or whatever is kinda kicking my butt.

Ben and I stayed low to the ground and moved sideways along the front of the house around to the side. The bushes were decent cover and allowed us to look inside the windows. When we'd pulled up, the house looked perfectly normal. Like every other house on the street. But up close, there were a couple of major differences. The bay window had been smashed and left uncovered and the sapling at the side of the house, by the basement window, had been pulled almost out of the ground. When I moved nearer, I saw small holes, five of them, like someone had been clawing their way out of the basement. Then I peered into the basement window. Everything became clear then, in the dim glow of the single bulb hanging from the ceiling. I saw Justin, naked and bleeding, lying on a bed, face down, his hands and feet bound. Shards of glass were embedded in his skin. Clearly Justin had tried to escape. First through this basement window and then through the bay window in the front. I'd never felt more proud or more scared (and guilt ridden) in my life. He'd fought to get home to me, and it had left him half-dead.

Then Ben was next to me, his strong hand gripping my shoulder. I don't know whether he was holding me back or holding me up. In his most soothing, most Zen Ben voice, he said, "Slow down. I've been around the entire house. I counted ten guys, but there might be more. We're outmanned. 5 to 1 or worse."

I hissed, "I'm going in there, with or without you."

Ben sighed. "I figured you'd say that. Look, I'm with you all the way, but we need reinforcements. Call Carl. Then we'll go in. Okay?"

I nodded. I hit 9 on the speed dial. As the phone rang, I thought, I really ought to bump him up to 2. I'd talked more to Carl in the last few months than I had anyone, except Justin.

"Carl. It's Brian. We found him."

"What? How?"

"Later."

"Is he okay?"

My voice cracked. "No-o. He's bleeding so much. Probably more than I can see from here." I could be such a scared little faggot where Justin was concerned.

"Where are you?"

"95 Bilberry Lane. Outside the basement window."

"I'll send some black and whites and an ambulance. Brian, don't go in alone."

"I'm not alone. Ben's with me."

"Stay where you are until we get there. You'll be no good to Justin dead."

"I'll take your suggestion under advisement."

"Brian!" I didn't respond. Instead, I hung up.

I was about to break the window, when Ben grabbed my hand, pulling it away. Then he wedged his fingers into a small space at the top and pulled it down and open. "Brian, you need to relax, as much as possible. Any wrong move now could be disastrous."

"Okay, yeah." But I was only half-listening. I needed to be as close to Justin as possible, and right the fuck now. I spun around and stuck my legs through the opening Ben had made and then inched myself in and down until I was hanging by my hands. I dropped to the floor with a thud. I bit back a curse (the drop was pretty far, and the basement floor was made of cement). Then I slowly moved toward the bed. When I was next to it, I blinked furiously and swallowed hard. Seeing Justin like this brought me back to the morning after the rape. He was naked and tied up the same way. But this time, he wasn't just bruised. He was bleeding. So much. I was afraid to touch him. I didn't want to hurt him. And, of course, moving him was out of the question. So I leaned in and whispered, "Angel, I'm here."

Justin croaked, "Mast-er."

His voice…it was so hoarse, yet soft…he seemed smaller, younger…I shivered and bit back tears.

"Yes, Angel, it's me."

"I tried to escape."

"I bet you took down a few." And I didn't doubt it. In the last couple of months, Justin had knocked me on my ass a bunch of times (practicing for class).

Justin let out a shuddery sigh. "Yeah, but there were too many."

I couldn't help myself…couldn't prevent myself from kissing Justin's cheek, though I feared it might hurt him. It seemed that even breathing was causing him pain. "Ten's too many for anyone…even Ben and me."

"Try 15. Ben's here?"

"Yeah. He's my back up. At least until Carl gets here."

"Good…good." Every word, every breath, was such an effort for Justin.

"Angel, do something for me, okay?"

"Anything."

"Try not to talk. You need to preserve your strength. Just hold on, okay?"

"K. Love you."

I closed my eyes, shut them so tight. I couldn't let myself fall apart. In as even a voice as I could manage, I replied, "I love you, too, Angel." Justin smiled. "I'm going to untie you." I looked over at Ben. He was standing in front of the bed like a genie or some shit, standing tall with his arms crossed, a scary look on his face. I shook my head and started untying Justin's hands. When I'd gotten them free, I slipped his ring back on his finger. Justin smiled again. I couldn't help but smile a little, too. I'd just started working on his feet when I heard a door open. Then pounding as someone came down the stairs. Ben stepped into the shadows, and I hunched down, hiding behind the bed. The second the man stepped onto the cement floor, Ben grabbed him, covering his mouth with one hand and holding him fast with the other. The man kicked and screamed. Ben was having trouble holding him still. Finally Ben slammed his head into a metal pole. The man slumped down. Ben guided him to the floor.

Then another guy came down the stairs, but faster. Halfway down, he glimpsed Ben. Ben managed to grab him, drag him the rest of the way down, and cover his mouth, but not before the guy had yelled, "Intruders."

Fuck.

Then all hell broke loose. Five guys burst through the door and down the stairs. Ben was amazing. He grabbed two guys and knocked their heads together. They both lost consciousness. I punched another guy and jabbed yet another in the solar plexus. They both landed on the floor. I was about to kick the guy I'd punched, but then the fifth guy hit me in the back with a piece of a broken chair. I swung around, but then Ben was behind him, grabbing him, trying to subdue him. But that guy was strong, apparently almost as strong as Ben. He managed to get free and punch Ben square in the nose, breaking it. Ben ended up knocking that guy's head against the metal pole, but I didn't actually see it (I heard it). Unfortunately, the guy I'd punched had gotten back up, so when I wheeled around again, he punched me in the jaw. I took a page out of Justin's book, flipping him onto his back and stomping him in the solar plexus. I smiled at Ben then. The two guys who were still conscious were clutching their chests and writhing on the floor, but the victory was a short lived one. Eight more guys came stomping down the stairs. If I'd thought all hell broke loose before…it really broke out then. It was a brawl. Ben and I punched, jabbed, and kicked and were punched, jabbed, and kicked. Just when I thought we were done, covered in bruises and blood, the cavalry arrived. I was so happy when I heard Carl's pissy growl, "Brian, I told you to wait!" I laughed long and hard.

The next 45 minutes was a blur. The paramedics gave Justin something for the pain and then took out all the shards of glass they could and bandaged Justin up (otherwise, they couldn't put him on the gurney), while I held his hand. He still couldn't open his eyes, but he spoke a word or two now and then. Mostly "Brian" and "love you." The paramedics wanted to check me out, too (I looked pretty fucked up…with two black eyes a bruise on my cheek, a busted lip, and a broken rib or two), but I wouldn't let them. Justin needed to get to the hospital immediately, and I wasn't about to let go of his hand, not for one second, not even when they carried the gurney up the stairs.

In the ambulance (Carl had to do some more of his pissy growling to get them to let me ride with Justin), I threaded our fingers together and did everything I'd wanted to do before. I kissed the back of his hand, his wrist, and his lips, I ran the fingers of my other hand through his hair, and I told him I loved him over and over. The whole time, Justin was smiling (it was a soft smile, but a smile all the same).

TBC…(I hope this is an acceptable place to stop)


	8. The Storm, Part 2

Chapter 8: The Storm, Part 2, aka First Journal Entry

It's been three days since Brian found me.

Brian's been reading self-help Web sites again. I know because he brought home a journal and a calligraphy pen today. Apparently, he thinks I have things to get off my chest. I think my silence scares him.

When Carl searched the house in which I was held and found the check my mom wrote the kidnappers, I said nothing.

When Carl arrested my mom for conspiracy to kidnap me, I said nothing.

When Molly took a cab from my dad's to the loft and my dad showed up, throwing me up against a pillar in his attempt to get me out of the way (so he could drag Molly out), I said nothing.

When he punched me in the face, breaking my nose, again attempting to get at Molly, I said nothing.

When Brian called the cops and they carted him away for assault, I said nothing.

Every night since the kidnapping, when I wake up in a cold sweat, I say nothing.

What is there to say?

Ouch.

That is all.

Okay, maybe there's more.

My entire body is sore.

Doesn't matter what position I'm in.

Where I don't have gashes or scrapes, I have bruises.

So, yeah, ouch.

The doctor says I shouldn't have scars.

Please.

Maybe none that other people can see. Even if they're invisible, Brian'll be able to see. I'd say Daph, too, but I'm not sure she can really comprehend.

"The mother won't pay us the second half if the kid's harmed."

Yes, even through the haze of pain and blood loss, I remember those words (the saddest part is I never doubted that my mom was involved. Just the suggestion and I accepted it. There was no shock…no moment of painful realization). And of course (through the haze of pain and blood loss, I remember…) "Angel, I'm here." The best words in the English language as far as I'm concerned, except maybe for "I love you," as uttered by Brian. Of course.

Oh…I guess I do have something to say besides ouch.

I'm tired.

So fucking tired.

I'm tired of 'good' people thinking they know what's best. They just end up hurting me.

Just add my mom to the growing list: Ethan, Lindsay, Mel, and Debbie. Yeah, it's probably a crime to put Ethan on the same list as Lindsay, Mel, and Debbie and now my mom (and most likely my dad…though I'd guess all of his actions are motivated by hate, not some fucked up version of love). But I don't know. Ethan claimed to love me. He claimed to want, and know, what was best for me. I guess it's all a matter of degree. Who knows what Lindsay and Mel will do to keep Gus away from Brian and me? I know what my mom will do to keep me from Brian and what my dad will do to keep Molly from me. I don't have much faith in people anymore. Not exactly the attitude I want to have just before our collaring ceremony. But I suppose all I really need for that is faith in Brian. And that's the one thing I still have.

Don't get me wrong. I'm thankful for a great many things (not all Brian-related). I'm grateful that Ben knows how to help Brian…just watching him go and holding on. I thought I was the only one who knew to do that. I'm grateful that Daphne is still militant and in my corner. I'm grateful that Molly's old enough to make up her own mind. I'm grateful Carl no longer sees the world in black and white.

Brian wants to postpone the ceremony, well longer. I don't know. Granted, it hurts to move. At all. And me naked isn't a pretty sight right now (and fuck, my face…ugh). But I hate the idea that my mom and dad were even able to postpone the ceremony (I guess they already succeeded there...). Plus, Carl can only hold my dad for another 48 hours. According to Brian, an hour after he was bailed out, Carl brought him back in for questioning about the kidnapping…that gives him another 48 to build a case. He's sure my mom wasn't in this alone. I'd have to agree. Now's probably the best time to have the ceremony, since Molly's staying with us and all. That's temporary. Brian, _Brian_ of all people, actually suggested that we try to get temporary custody of Molly, like legally. With my mom still in jail (the judge, a friend of Carl's apparently, refused to let my mom out. He wouldn't even set bail), and my dad in jail for at least two more days, Brian thinks we have a good chance, since none of my extended family lives in Pittsburgh.

And Daphne's still here. Brian seems to be perfectly content with her staying indefinitely.

I blame aliens.

TBC…soonish


	9. Silence

After we reached the hospital, the doctor removed the rest of the shards of glass and then stitched and bandaged Justin up (in the ER). Justin was still holding my hand. Okay, I might have been doing most of the holding. Still, the one time I tried to let go, he moaned, softly, but so desolately. I didn't let go again. Not even much later when he was in his hospital bed sleeping. The nurse tried to get me to leave. Tried and failed. She even called Carl in. (He was playing sentry. He stayed at the hospital all night, outside Justin's hospital room). He refused to remove me bodily.

Justin had 17 cuts needing stitches (119 stitches). The rest weren't too deep. Still … Justin's body was covered in gashes, scrapes, and bruises. His entire body. The doctor said he shouldn't have scars.

What the fuck ever.

Maybe not the kind you can see.

Once Justin was in his hospital bed, a nurse (the bitch who tried to kick me out later) came in and hooked up an IV. Justin needed a blood transfusion (that took an hour) and then IV hydration. He was still in a lot of pain, so she gave him another dose of pain medication, too. He wouldn't eat. Not then. Or in the morning. I wouldn't eat that shit, either (nasty-looking meatloaf and runny mashed potatoes … mustard-colored scrambled eggs, soggy home fries, and bacon sliced so thin you could see through it). The orange juice looked okay, but he wouldn't drink that, either.

But he didn't even want to eat after we got home (he was released at noon). Not until I insisted. Even then, he just smiled, nodded, and opened his mouth.

And yes, I fed him. Then I fucked him. Standing up. And very slowly.

I couldn't understand (the lack of an appetite). It had to be an emotional thing. A response to the kidnapping. But in other ways, Justin was acting normal. Completely normal. In the hospital, Justin held my hand until he fell asleep (again, I was doing most of the holding that night) and then again the whole time he was awake (A little clingy … but I was just as guilty of that, and that was a response I could understand. He'd probably wondered, what I'd wondered, whether we'd ever see each other again). And he kept smiling at me, in the hospital, in the jeep, and at the loft. It wasn't until Debbie tried to visit that I started to understand. She walked in carrying a casserole dish with lasagna in it, one arm outstretched to hug Justin, but he didn't even look at her. He turned to me and said, "I'm tired. I'm gonna take a nap." And he did indeed lay down in the bedroom. But he wasn't sleeping. I joined him a couple of minutes later. I was afraid to pull him back into my arms (he was on his side of the bed lying on his side), afraid I'd hurt him, so I just ran my fingers through his hair. I didn't remove my hand until an hour later. Neither of us slept. Neither of us spoke. We just lay there.

Justin's response to people varied, but a pattern was forming.

He joked with Daphne while he was still in the hospital (at night, shortly after he was admitted). In a near croak, he said, "Even like this, I'm prettier than you."

Daphne giggled and muttered, "Asshole."

And in the morning, he flicked scrambled eggs at her (she was threatening him with bodily harm if he didn't eat). She vowed, "I'm gonna get you!" And a minute later that's exactly what she did, tickling his feet (and holding them so he couldn't wriggle away). He ended up falling back he was laughing so hard and scrunching up his nose and crying out, half-laughing, half-whining, "Ow!" Normal. Not the not eating part. But their near-infantile interaction. He even instructed her to stay the fuck away (for a few hours), if she didn't want a front-row seat (to our fucking). Again normal.

But when Lindsay and Mel came to the loft that evening to visit (without Gus), again, he refused to even look at them. Again, he was suddenly tired. And, again, he lay down. This time on the couch. But he wasn't sleeping. He lay there, eyes closed, until he heard the loft door slide shut. Then he stood and went into the kitchen. To make coffee. He was still scooping coffee into the machine when Carl called. And when I told Justin what Carl had called to say … that the cops had found the check his mom had written Tombs and that two (of the cops) had been sent to (and did) arrest her, he didn't even turn around. He just closed the basket on the coffee maker and flipped the switch.

He stood there silently until coffee started to drip into the carafe. Then he asked, "Was Molly there?"

I replied, "No. At your dad's."

Justin nodded slowly and said, "Good." He didn't move, and he didn't say anything else. He just stood there watching coffee brew.

TBC…(the next part will be a lot longer)


	10. Numb

I walked into the loft. Molly was screaming, "Dad, no! No! Stop! Stop!" The second stop came out as a pleading whine. Three beats long. Craig loomed large over Molly and Justin. He had Justin by the arm, his fingers digging so hard into Justin's already bruised skin that Justin was grimacing. Justin was standing in front of Molly, his free arm reaching back behind him protectively. The pitch of Molly's voice rose with her rising panic. "I'll go back with you. Okay? Just stop hurting him!" But Craig grabbed Justin's arm tighter, causing Justin to wince and cry out. I moved to close the distance between Justin and me. Too slow. I heard a sickening crack and a wordless scream, and blood started flowing. I jumped to grab Craig, who was staring at Justin with wide eyes, his mouth open slightly (as though horrified at what he'd done). Again too slow. Justin beat me to it. Blinking and cursing ("Fuck!"), blood streaming down his face and neck, Justin managed to hit Craig in the windpipe. One quick fluid movement, from a slight bending to a standing position, a jab, and Craig was hunched over, his hands at his throat, coughing. It was cold, calculating, rational. I saw none of the fire, the emotion I had come to expect from Justin.

Not when he pulled Molly against him, letting out a whispered, "Sorry, Mollusk" like a breath he'd been holding.

Not when, Molly still in his arms, his eyes, empty of everything, flickered up to mine. He breathed in. A droplet of blood that had reached his chin fell onto Molly's pink sweatshirt, blooming into a starburst. He breathed out. Craig coughed and wheezed. And still nothing registered. He could have been looking at a wall.

Not when I called the police. "… my partner's been assaulted …" His face was completely expressionless … no hint of a smile at my calling him my partner (even in the darkest of times, Justin smiled when I publicly claimed him … like Pavlov's dogs drooling at the sound of a bell, the smile was automatic) … no flash of anger at my describing him as having been assaulted … like he hadn't defended himself … like he needed protecting (probably an even touchier subject since the kidnapping).

Not when I gently tilted his head up and carefully wiped the blood off of his face. We were two, maybe three, inches from each other, but it could have been miles. His gaze was focused on a point slightly above and to the right of my left shoulder.

Not when I, my task completed, bent down, pressed my forehead against Justin's, and ran the fingers of my left hand through his hair. He didn't move. He didn't make a sound. That (the latter) was the only indication that Justin, my Angel, was still in there. He wasn't breathing. I clenched my jaw and swallowed hard. A skulking shiver suddenly emerged and tore through me, like a jolt of electricity. Not for the first time, I was cognizant (and, this time, unashamed) of my desperate need … to be able to take Justin's breath away. A full minute later, I pulled back. Justin let his eyes flutter open (when had he closed them) and inhaled deeply. Restarting. But, just as quickly, shutting down again. The glimmer of light in his eyes dimming.

Not when the cops were taking Molly's statement.

"My dad grabbed Justin. Hard. I told him to stop. I said I'd go with him. There was no reason for my dad to hit Justin. But he did it anyway. He punched him in the face. He _broke_ his nose. It was my fault. Justin didn't do anything wrong. _I_ was the one who decided to come here. _I_ called the cab. He hit Justin a couple years ago, too. I saw it from my bedroom window. My dad never did this stuff before Justin told him that he was gay. That means this is a hate crime, right? We learned about that in school."

Justin stood behind her, arms crossed, his mouth an unbroken line, and blinked. He could have been waiting with her for the bus for all his face and eyes revealed. Except that he didn't even look bored.

Not when they were carting Craig away.

"I don't want my daughter staying here, not even for one night! Call child protective services. Put her in the system. Anyone's better than these faggots!"

Justin breathed in.

Justin breathed out.

Justin had been so happy and relieved when I found him, so full of love for me. And I still saw that deep love … but less. In rare flashes and glimpses. Justin was shutting down bit by bit, and I felt powerless to stop it. A year ago, two years ago, I would have been glad. I would have said, finally, he's toughening up. Finally, he's protecting himself. But … I didn't want Justin to become me. Maybe once upon a time. Not now. What I'd said during our date months ago was never truer. I needed Justin whole and healthy. Whole, healthy, happy, and by my side. He was none of those things. He was with me, sure, but he wasn't really _with_ me, a distinction I would have been loath to make even a year ago. Justin wasn't talking and he wasn't feeling, so we weren't really connecting. We'd passed the last couple of days mostly in silence. So ironic. Not so long ago, I would have been glad for the reprieve. Touch was all I needed. All I wanted. The only way I could say what I felt. But now … something was different about the silence. Justin had closed parts of himself off even to me.

TBC… (soon. I wanted this part to be longer, but I'm in a weird mood and writing very, very slow)


	11. Dark Places

I walked into the loft. It smelled like pizza. An open, empty pizza box, from Campinellis, lay on the island counter. No sign of Daphne or Molly. The air grew warm and damp as I approached the bedroom. And just as I reached the sliding doors, I smelled Justin's favorite cologne. Just a hint.

I opened the doors to find Justin kneeling (his legs open wide) on the floor (more specifically, on the bear skin rug), naked, his hands cuffed behind his back, his head down. Justin started at the dull thump of wood on wood, but kept his head down and said nothing. I stood on the stairs for a minute or two, frozen, my briefcase still in my hand. My chest ached, and I blinked back tears. Justin was, as ever, beautiful, but, this way, his skin and face marred by angry red cuts and purple and blue bruises, and kneeling, he looked broken. Smaller. I hadn't been able to … do anything but straight fucking since the kidnapping (and less frequently). That's why I'd suggested that we put off the collaring ceremony (not that I had told Justin that that was the reason). I wasn't sure I could do "this" anymore. Granted, before the kidnapping, we'd never been closer … and I'd never been happier, but … after … given that the kidnapping had happened because of our unusual relationship … given that a choice I'd made had (again) led to Justin's being hurt … given that showing Justin love meant controlling him … bondage … pain … I wasn't sure I could do it anymore. This was a dilemma I'd faced before, after the rape, but then, it'd seemed like the only way to make Justin okay again. Now …

Justin whispered, without looking up, "Master?" Bringing me out of my head.

I actually balked at that, stepping back onto the living room floor. I didn't turn and leave, although part of me wanted to. Instead, I cleared my throat and set my briefcase down. It made a hollow thump that echoed through the loft. Despite having cleared it, my voice still came out as a rasp. A raspy whisper. "Angel."

Justin lifted his head. His eyes met mine. But they weren't empty. Not this time. Now they were filled with pain and uncertainty. My chest ached even more then. When did I ever really have a choice?

Again, I cleared my throat. And again, I said, "Angel," but this time with more confidence.

"This thing, what we do, isn't about pain. It's about control. The freedom of allowing yourself to be completely vulnerable, to implicitly trust, another person."

Justin stared at me with wide eyes. Of course, he knew all this. We hadn't delved too deeply yet into the types of pain. Some paddling, spanking, denial of orgasm, uncomfortable positions. That was the extent of our exploration so far.

"I'm not going to give you what you want. I'm going to give you what you need."

A sigh and a half-smile. Justin was relieved. Clearly he didn't know what he needed. But he trusted that I did.

The problem was, I wasn't sure what he needed. I wasn't a psychologist. Not that I put much stock in them. But they at least had confidence. Techniques and theory to fall back on. Me…I was swinging in the dark. I'd gotten lucky the first time. I'd made everything okay again by giving Justin what he'd always wanted and then some. Exorcising ghosts by taking what was mine. Taking possession of Justin in every sense of the word. Giving up what little autonomy I had left. And now? Deb, Justin's parents, and even Mel and Lindsay had made Justin feel like our relationship was something he should be ashamed of. How could I unsully it? Make him feel safe. I honestly didn't know. Justin must now realize what I'd known all along. At the end of the day, people couldn't be trusted. Even Justin had betrayed me. That had surprised me. Justin … well … I'd viewed him as an exception pretty much since we met. Course, I'd brought that betrayal on myself. I knew that. Justin really _was_ an exception. But people were fallible. They justified the most horrible things so easily. Getting Deb and Lindsay and Mel on board, even if it were possible, which it probably wasn't, wouldn't help. Justin had seen through their good intentions. He probably wouldn't trust anyone the way he used to. Except me. That was it. I had to remind him that he could trust me. Make him feel safe. And hope that was enough. Justin had always been a people person. He needed lots of people to care about. I did, too, but I set limits. I knew it was all bullshit. A game we all consented to play, with rules and boundaries, limits you never knew were there until you broke one.

"Stand up."

Justin moved his knees together, leaned back until his feet were flat on the floor, and then stood, all in one fluid movement. Impressive.

"Come here."

Justin took two steps forward. His eyes were still averted downward.

"Look at me, Angel."

My breath caught in my throat a little when he lifted his head. Maybe it was his eyes. I don't think they'd ever glittered quite like that. Or maybe it was something else. The staggering need. I swallowed hard. A year ago, I would have laughed or yelled. Most definitely backed away. But, now, now, I lifted his chin with a finger and guided his lips to mine.

A gentle press

a nibble (his lower lip)

my hands cupped around his cheeks

my tongue deep in his mouth

my fingers in his hair

pulling and clawing

When I eventually pulled back, he was flushed and panting. And his eyes did that thing. Fluttered open.

I stepped back.

Justin was disappointed and surprised, but he said nothing. In fact, he didn't make a sound.

I grabbed a chair from the dining room and carried it into the bedroom. I set it in the middle of the rug behind Justin.

"Sit."

Justin hesitated. "Master, the cuffs …"

I lifted Justin's arms (which were still behind him, fastened at the wrists) over the back of the chair.

"Sit."

I loosened my tie (bright pink today) and pulled it off with a soft zip. I knelt and weaved it around Justin's ankles and through the space between the chair legs, finally fastening the ends together in the back. Then I stood and started turning off lights.

The bathroom light.

The blue light.

The light in the kitchen.

The loft was completely dark now.

Well … almost. Moonlight was pouring in through the windows, and through the screen, it gave Justin's skin an ethereal glow (he was naked). I crept silently back toward the bedroom and then in, but stayed in the shadows. And just looked at Justin.

My breath caught in my throat again. Even like this, broken, bruised, he was beautiful.

Justin remained perfectly still for about two minutes. Then he shivered slightly and exhaled a shuddery breath. I shivered a little, too, and my chest suddenly felt impossibly tight. Then I asked, "What was it like?"

Again taking a shot in the dark. Again playing with fire.

Justin jumped just perceptibly. He was surprised. And nervous.

"At that house. In the basement."

Justin swallowed hard. He didn't answer right away. I knew Justin didn't want to talk about this. But I also knew he had to. When he finally responded, he said simply, in a hollow voice, "Cold. Dark. Empty."

A heart beat later, he added, in almost a whisper, "I kept waiting."

I expected him to say more, but he didn't.

I prodded, "Waiting for what?"

"For them to do something. Anything. But they didn't. They just left me to rot."

Another heartbeat later, again in a whisper, he added, "All this, the cuts and the bruises, I did to myself."

It took everything in me not to snap at him. I thought we'd gotten past the self-loathing, the self-blaming. I took a deep breath and replied evenly, "How do you figure?"

Justin shook his head and looked down. He said simply, in a defeated tone, "I tried to escape." Yet again dropping his voice to a whisper, this time a husky whisper, as though he were fighting back tears of frustration, he explained, "Every time I take what I want, I get hurt. I wanted you. I wanted romance. I _thought_ I wanted romance. But I still just wanted you. I wanted to end things on good terms with Ethan, to give him closure. I wanted to be yours again, and this time, completely. I wanted you to collar me. I wanted to come home." His voice broke on the last word.

Justin must have clenched his fists or pulled his wrists farther apart because I heard the clank of metal on metal. His voice was barely audible now. I started to move closer, so that I could hear him more clearly, but I froze when he looked back up and I saw the expression on his face. He'd turned so red that I could see the pink tinge to his cheeks even in the dim light filtering in through the screen. "What …" He paused, blinking a few times, and then continued, "… what I want turns people into monsters."

Alright. I could see where that was coming from … still it was a huge pile of crap. Clearly the kidnapping had awakened old fears, anxieties. Feelings of guilt I thought had been eradicated, but that must have merely been pushed down. I started moving closer again, stopping when I reached the chair and kneeling, sliding my hands over his thighs. "Angel, you can't make anyone do anything."

Justin swallowed hard and let his head fall. I continued, "You can't turn anyone into anything they didn't already have the potential to be." I paused. I lifted his chin with a finger. When his eyes met mine, I asked, softly, in a voice reserved only for Justin, "Am I a monster?"

Justin eyes widened, and he shook his head. "No." But I wasn't sure I believed him. Maybe that was my crap coming to the surface. The rape had unearthed some things revolving around Jack. Things I'd spent years burying. I licked my lips. They were so dry. Then I said, as evenly, as lightheartedly as I could manage, "By your logic, I should be."

Justin sighed and let his head fall once more. "By some people's standards you are. Maybe that's it." Justin looked back up, an intent, hurt expression in his eyes. "Maybe we both are. Maybe anything's justified in the face of that."

"Our life choices aren't hurting anyone."

Bitterly (and quickly), Justin replied, "Lindsay and Mel would disagree."

I clenched my jaw. "Lindsay and Mel are deluded. Their relationship is as fucked up as they think ours is. They just don't have the guts to admit it."

"I was kidnapped. My parents are in jail. We'll need to take Lindsay and Mel to court to get any kind of visitation with Gus. Deb's refusing to come to our collaring ceremony. And that, the thing that caused this shitstorm, it might never even happen. Maybe we just don't get to be happy."

Fuck that. "Bullshit. If you wanted, I'd collar you, tomorrow. I just…"

Suddenly angry, Justin hissed, "What? You just want to wait until I no longer look like a kicked around piece of crap?"

In lieu of carding my fingers through my hair (in frustration) or clenching my fists (in anger), I squeezed Justin's thighs. Then I muttered, "Little twat. No. I just thought it might be nice to wait until we don't have all this bullshit hanging over our heads."

"If we wait for that, it'll never happen."

I slid my hands (very gently) up Justin's bare chest, over his shoulders, and then up along the curve of his neck. I dropped my voice to a husky whisper, leaned in, and asked, "Do you want me to collar you tomorrow?"

Justin shivered slightly. In a tremulous voice, he answered, "Yes."

I whispered "done" against his lips, tilted his head, and plunged my tongue into his mouth. Justin moaned. Fucking hot.

Just then, the lights came on. Justin and I broke apart and looked back toward the door. There stood Daphne and Molly. Daphne was giggling, Molly was covering her eyes (actually her entire face) with her hands, and I turned back and let my head fall against Justin's chest. But Justin. He laughed. Long and hard. That warm musical laugh. The best sound in the world.

TBC…


	12. Disease

For Brian and Justin's collaring ceremony, Emmett had envisioned something like leather night at Babylon. Brian had given him his platinum card, and with it, Emmett had purchased a leather thong and a studded leather collar for Justin. Then he'd procured a variety of sex toys (crops, cat o' nine tails, paddles, a swing, a few "dungeon walls," with chains and shackles, dildos of various sizes and colors, and so on). Basically, he'd designed a play room for the ceremony. He'd even planned a floor show. He was going for an ambience that was fun yet serious and very kinky. In fact, Emmett was hoping to get everyone to dress to match the décor. Emmett was particularly keen to see Ben bare chested and clad in leather.

And that would have been perfect if only the gang would be attending. But Justin wanted family to come (Gus and Molly…and he hoped even his mother). So much to Emmett's disappointment, Daphne nixed nearly everything. Justin would wear the leather thong, but under something else. And the studded leather collar would be used only in private. In its place … to Emmett's horror, Daphne had purchased (as Emmett discovered during their next ceremony planning session) … a cat's collar (for Justin's wrist). Emmett had laughed. "Oh Sweetie, no. No." Then he'd picked it up with his thumb and forefinger and held it away from him as he carried it to the kitchen and tossed it into the trash.

They'd compromised on a thick braided leather bracelet. And they'd decided that all the sex toys (even the dungeon walls), which Emmett currently had stored in his closet, would be placed in the bedroom (Justin wanted the place he and Brian had first 'made love' to be the backdrop for the ceremony, the reception, and, well, the other stuff. So it would be Daphne and Molly, not Brian and Justin, who spent the night in a hotel).

But most of the planning had taken place prior to everything. Prior to Deb, Lindsay, Mel, and Jennifer's condemnation and the kidnapping. Both, but especially the kidnapping (and all that came with it), had thrown a pall over everything. An extra air of solemnity … and something else. Something dark. Mikey would have called it impending doom, if he'd put it into words.

Everyone was uneasy. Even Brian. But his unease had a more immediate cause. Vows. Or whatever the analogue for collaring ceremonies. None were ready made.

So several hours before the ceremony, when Justin, Molly, and Daphne were off doing last minute errands and Emmett was at his apartment cooking and baking, Brian was at the loft pacing, walking up and down 'the aisle' in between the rows of chairs Daphne had set up that morning.

Every time he reached one end, he stopped. But after a brief pause, he invariable swung around and started pacing once more.

Finally, after twenty or thirty round trips, Brian did more than pause. He was in the 'altar area,' though, of course, there was no altar. He shrugged and rolled his shoulders, like he was a prize fighter. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak.

EHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

The buzzer.

That'd be Mikey. He'd insisted that he and Brian have some 'best-friend time' before the ceremony. Brian gave him that. Mikey was already disappointed that he hadn't had the time to throw him a bachelor party. A fact that had relieved Brian enormously. Mikey wasn't taking the monogamy aspect of Brian and Justin's relationship too well.

Brian sighed and walked over to the door. He hit the button and slid the door open.

Mikey burst through the door and waggled his eyebrows. "You look tense." He clapped Brian on the shoulder. "Zephyr to the rescue!"

Ten minutes and a joint later, Brian was once again standing and pacing. Shrugging and rolling.

But this time he actually spoke.

"Justin."

Brian carded his fingers through his hair.

"Justin." Brian extended an arm, as though he were a Roman orator addressing the Senate. "Justin. You're a twat. But you're my twat."

The peanut gallery (Mikey) roared with laughter.

"What?"

Mikey's eyes widened, and he laughed so hard he nearly rolled off the couch.

"Your twat? Have you gotten it checked recently? I've heard you're supposed to do that annually."

Brian's eyes widened. He giggled. Then he drew his hand over his face and sighed. "I don't know what the fuck to say."

Mikey rolled his eyes and sighed. He stood up and squeezed Brian's shoulder. "Yes you do." He swallowed hard, remembering. _"I'm a scared little faggot. Afraid of losing Justin again…afraid of becoming Jack and seeing Justin recoil in horror…afraid of being forcibly separated from him when the cops send me to jail…I'm fucking powerless to keep the person I love most in the world safe, and it's fucking killing me!"_ "Just be direct. And keep it simple."

Brian shook his head. "I …" Then he growled and turned away.

Mikey shrugged. "Maybe Lindsay and Mel and Ma are right."

Brian swung around. His eyes intense. "What?"

"This thing you're doing … your relationship … it's fucked up. So yeah. What can you say? Do you promise to be my dog? To come, roll over, and heel whenever I say for as long as we both shall live? Super. Now let me put your collar on. It's labeled. M-Y-T-W-A-T. I mean, A-N-G-E-L. And it has the loft's address on the back, in case you get lost."

"What the fuck?"

"That's what I'm saying, Brian. What the fuck? The reason you're having trouble is that this is sick. It isn't about love. It's about control. That's why it's Justin. He's been following you around like a puppy since the day you met. If you'd picked someone else, someone with a personality, some self-respect, you'd actually have to meet him halfway. Give up some control. But Justin is weak."

"Justin is _not_ weak."

Mikey shrugged. "Whatever you say."

"He's the strongest person I know."

"Right… That's why he needs you to save him. He gets into trouble … you ride to the rescue. And then tell him what to do, what to say, and what to think. Pet him and tell him he's a good boy."

"You're an idiot."

Mikey stepped closer and poked Brian in the chest. "Tell me how what I said isn't true."

"Stop it, Mikey."

Poke. "He needs you to save him."

"Stop it."

Poke. "He wants you to own him."

"I mean it, Mikey. Get the fuck away."

Poke. "Cause he's your dog." Mikey illustrated with some barking. And a high-pitched whine."

Brian pushed Mikey, sending him halfway across the room. "You're a fucking idiot. I didn't save him. I don't own him. _He_ saved _me_ ... saves me." Dropping his voice to a whisper, he added, "He fucking owns _me_."

Mikey was expecting a reaction, a strong one, but not that. He choked out, "What?"

"I broke every one of my rules for Justin. We're monogamous. And having a fucking commitment ceremony. What does that tell you?"

"I don't know. What should it tell me?" Mikey giggled. He was back to poking. "That you're a lesbian?" Poke. "That you love pussy?"

Brian shrugged. "I love him, and I need him in my life." Brian turned and let his head fall. Softly he added, "And our relationship or whatever-the-fuck isn't about control."

Mikey patted him on the back. "Whatever you need to tell yourself, Brian."

Brian wheeled around. But he quickly lost his steam. He knew what he was about to say would earn him a one-way ticket to dyke-ville. "It's not. It's about trust."

Mikey pretended to gag.

"He trusts me to give him what he needs. I trust him to take me as I am."

Brian expected laughter.

What he got was a proud smile and another pat on the back. "There you go."

Brian managed to raise an eyebrow and furrow his brow. Simultaneously. No mean feat. "What?"

"_That's_ what you say."

Brian furrowed his brow harder.

Mikey stood up on his tiptoes, deepened and dropped his voice, leaned back slightly, shrugged, and let his head fall. "Justin, you're the strongest person I know. You save me from myself every day, from the monster I could become. I love you, and I need you in my life. I will always give you what you need, as long as you take me as I am … or you know, something like that."

"You're a douche. You know that, right?"

"Yup."

TBC…


End file.
